


To Take Care Of

by sparxwrites



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Choking, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Cybernetics, Dirty Talk, Drooling, Exhibitionism, Grinding, Groping, Jack being Jack, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possession, Praise Kink, Semi-public masturbation, Threats of Violence, Verbal Humiliation, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: Grinning wide, Jack slowly raised one translucent, triumphant hand – and a naked sort of terror crawled its way across Rhys’ face as his own, mechanical hand lifted too.It settled heavy on his collarbone, cold fingertips grazing the softness of his neck just enough for him to feel his own pulse racing below fragile skin. “I can rip your throat out for real, now, princess,” Jack whispered, teeth bared into something too hungry, too animal to be described as a smile, voice a low rumble. “Isn’t that fun?”(In which Rhys gets threatened, gets choked, and gets himself off. in no particular order; or, rather, somewhat simultaneously.)
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83





	To Take Care Of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lizardhair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardhair/gifts).



“Hey. _Heeeey_. Wake up, sweetheart!” There was a strange clunking sound, like metal on wood, accompanying Jack’s dulcet tones. “Earth to planet Rhysie? Anyone home?”

Rhys woke up slowly, and very, very reluctantly.

Every inch of him ached, a low, too-hot tremble in muscles he didn’t even know he had. The past few days had been rough – fights with Vasquez, fights with bandits, fights with wild animals, fights with every living thing on this godforsaken planet, since all of them seemed to be intent on killing him – and the scrapes and bruises he’d acquired had barely even begun to heal.

“Hey, princess. Last time I'm going to ask nicely.”

The words were accompanied by a sharp shock through his ECHO eye, a crackle of electricity that had him jack-knifing involuntarily forward. His exhausted, abused body protested at the abrupt movement. _Loudly._

“ _Nnhg–_ ”Painfully aware of Vaughn dozing just meters away on the couch, Sasha sprawled asleep in the passenger seat up front, and Fiona passed out in the driver’s seat, Rhys dug teeth into his lip to stifle the noise of pain caught in his throat.

“That was _not_ asking nicely,” he managed, under his breath, pressing the heel of his flesh palm against the steady throb of his eye socket. His words were a hushed hiss through the copper he could taste on his tongue.

Jack pulled a face, raising a hand to make a mocking sock-puppet imitation of Rhys speaking with his fingers. “God, do you ever open your mouth to do anything other than _whine_?” he asked, nose wrinkled in disgust as Rhys slowly unbent, sitting up gradually to lean back against the cold metal of the caravan wall. “ _Wah wah_ , Jack, save me, _wah_ , Jack, don’t _mildly_ electrocute me, _waaaah_ , Jack, I got my entire fist stuck up my stupid fucking ass because I’m a manbaby who–” 

Rhys flushed, pulling his hand away from his face to steady himself against the floor. “I have _never_ –” he hissed. Fiona snorted in her sleep, one leg twitching, and he cut himself off abruptly. Somehow, he didn’t think Fiona or her sister waking up to find him talking to himself was going to help his _I’m totally cool and trustworthy, please don’t throw me and Vaughan to the skags_ case.

“–okay, poetic license on the last one, I’ll grant you.” Jack rocked back on his heels, baring his teeth in something too sharp to be called a grin. “But like, in character, right? I can see you doing that. One day. Can’t _wait_ to see it.”

“Did you _want_ something?” interrupted Rhys, keeping his voice low and his eyes peeled for any hint of his companions waking. “Because, y’know, not that I don’t _love_ our little chats, but I was sleeping, and it’s I-don’t-even-know o’clock in the morning, and–” He muffled an exaggerated yawn. “–I’d kind of like to go _back_ to sleeping. If you don’t mind, that is, since _clearly_ you’ve got important business at ass o’clock.”

“Okay, okay, straight to business then. Cool, cool, I respect that in a man– just kidding, I don’t respect anyone. But, okay. See, kiddo, after all the excitement earlier, I was doing some thinking, and–” Rhys flinched as Jack flexed his fingers, and Rhys’ mechanical hand mirrored the motion perfectly. “ _Well_ …”

Grinning wide, Jack slowly raised one translucent, triumphant arm – and a naked sort of terror crawled its way across Rhys’ face as his own cybernetic arm lifted too.

It settled heavy on his collarbone, cold fingertips grazing the softness of his neck just enough for him to feel his own pulse racing below fragile skin. “I can rip your throat out for real, now, princess,” Jack whispered, teeth bared into something too hungry, too animal to be described as a smile. His voice was a low rumble Rhys felt in his _bones_. “Isn’t that fun?”

“Y-you can’t.” Rhys’ voice cracked, a strangled note of panic in it despite the fact he was still whispering. “I die, you die, remember? You’re in my head, you can’t–” The fingers twitched against his skin, and the words died in his throat at the spike of panic that ran up his spine.

Jack tipped his head back and _laughed._ “Whoever said anything about _killing_ you?” His expression was that of a predator. “No, I need you alive, kid! You’re my ticket off of this shithole, remember? But I, ah, uhuh– don’t necessarily need your throat in _perfect_ working order for that, and, well, I’ve kinda missed strangling people, so… _weeeell_ , I was thinking…”

“Look, don’t– don’t choke me,” managed Rhys, voice low and desperate. “Just– let’s, let’s just think about this rationally, okay? The others will notice, they’ll– they _will_ notice, they’ll ask questions–”

Jack shifted, and the hand – Rhys’ own hand, _his own damn hand_ – settled a little more snugly around his neck “Well,” he said, in an easy, predatory drawl, “that sounds like a you problem, I gotta say. Guess you better start thinking of some excuses, kiddo, huh?”

Jack’sfingers closed into a fist. Rhys’ hand turned into a vise around his own neck.

It was a strange sensation, being strangled by his own hand. There was the panic of it, yes, the instinctual desperation-terror and the hunger for oxygen. But there was also the sensory feedback of his own throat being crushed beneath the mechanical fingers of his hand, the flutter of his pulse under his fingertips and the soft yielding of his flesh. He was both predator and prey, his own involuntary aggressor, as his lungs began to burn and he choked on his own spit.

When the hand finally released – and he’d begun to think it wouldn’t, that he would die here with his own hand around his throat – the breath Rhys sucked in felt more like a rebirth than an inhale.

“ _Please_ ,” wheezed Rhys, as the blood rushed back to his brain. Jack was looking at him weirdly, something almost like _surprise_ on his translucent face, but the black spots slowly fading from Rhys’ vision made it difficult to tell. His panic made it difficult to _care_. “Please, don’t–”

Jack cleared his throat, the fingers on his outstretched hand twitching, and Rhys whimpered himself into silence at the implied threat. “I, uh,” said Jack, into the quiet, and it was hard to tell if he sounded awkward or amused. “You sure about that, cupcake? Because, uh…”

The cybernetic hand traced its way down Rhys’ chest, his belly, to settle over the fork of his legs. Over his– oh. _Oh_.

“Yeah,” laughed Jack, shifting his hand palm-down, lowering it slightly. Rhys’ hand pressed down a little harder over the bulge between his legs – and Rhys gave up trying to push it away in favour of trying to bite down on a _moan_. His thighs spread a little wider, involuntarily, his head lolling back against the wall. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. “Yeah, uh, you sure you want me to stop strangling you, pumpkin? ‘Cos you’re giving me mixed signals here, I gotta say–”

“Just– _Stop it–”_ gasped Rhys, even as his eyelids fluttered at the way Jack was gently massaging his dick. His hips hitched up into the touch, desperate “I’m not– Just– _Nngh, please_.” He shoved at the arm once more, and to his surprise, it _went_ , falling away from his cock–

Only to strike upwards, like a snake, to re-fasten around his throat.

“Touch yourself, Rhysie,” said Jack, his voice low and dark and deadly serious, as the fingers flexed and tightened inch by faint inch. “Go on. Don’t– hah, hahaa, don’t even bother trying to lie to me while you’re, uhh. I was gonna say half-mast, but really, more like full speed ahead there, buddy, huh? Surprised you haven’t bust right through your pants with how hard that thing is.”

The heat that had started spreading across Rhys’ face bloomed into a full, red flush, and he nearly swallowed his own tongue trying to come up with a response. “I– I, uh, I mean– really?” he whispered, too shocked into arousal by having _Handsome Jack_ demand he masturbate to continue his earlier objections. “Because, uh, there’s the others, and– and I’m not, not even into this, so, you know–”

Not, he had to admit, that that was a terribly convincing argument, given he was so hard it hurt.

“Stop fucking around, and _grab your damn dick_ ,sweetheart,” snarled Jack. His tone brooked no argument, his eyes glittering and hungry in the flickering blue of his face. “I’m not gonna ask nicely again.”

Rhys, breath stuttering in his chest, obediently dropped his flesh hand between his legs. Took a deep breath. Set it over the bulge in his pants. Pressed down.

Whether Jack was doing something to his brain chemistry – twitching the manmade wires implanted deep into his hippocampus, tweaking oxytocin and vasopressin levels – he couldn’t say. Maybe it had just been too long since he last had a chance to masturbate. Between the constant ladder-climbing in Hyperion, the desperate struggle to survive on Pandora, the close quarters of the caravan… It’d been a while. 

Whatever it was, the first press of his hand against his cock– His breath caught in his throat, no strangling required. It felt _good_ , and he barely managed to choke down a moan as he rolled his palm down his length through his pants, thumbed the head through the fabric until a wet spot began to bleed through. His cock twitched beneath his hand, blood-hot and aching and hard as iron.

This time, he didn’t quite manage to hold back his weak moan of pleasure.

Fiona stirred a little, chin flopping forward against her chest with a grunt. He froze, though he carried on rubbing his cock, panting unsteadily with the pleasure of it and the weight of Jack’s mocking gaze on his shameless masturbation.

“Jack,” he whispered, when he could remember how to speak again. “Jack, there’s– the others–” His eyes trailed away from the hologram, to the sleeping forms of the others sprawled out across the caravan’s various surfaces. “What if they–”

He wasn’t sure, now, that he could stop. Even if he wanted to, he wasn’t sure if he could stop. The thought was frightening and exciting in equal measure.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Jack, grinning. “I’ll keep you quiet.” The hand around his throat flexed, threateningly, and Rhys sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. “Shh, shh. There you go. Ol’ Jack’s got ya. You just focus on making yourself feel good, alright, princess?”

This time, when the hand tightened into a choke, it barely felt like Rhys’. Perhaps it was yet more of Jack’s influence, perhaps it was the arousal – but either way, it felt more like an extension of Jack than an extension of himself. 

And it felt _so good_.

His eyes rolled back into his head as his hand tightened around his cock, spreading his legs wider so he could pump it unsteadily. He could hardly think through the combination of arousal and loss of air. Every breath he tried to drag in caught in his throat, a whistle of an inhale thanks to the fist around it. Every moan and whimper that escaped him came out as a hoarse wheeze, barely audible, despite his mouth hanging open in pleasure. He’d thought he was hard before, but this, fucking into his own hand as the oxygen supply to his brain slowly flizzled and died… It was sheer bliss.

Jack nearly _purred_. When Rhys managed to focus his gaze through the haze of pleasure, it was to the sight of Jacks mouth curled into a smirk, the very tip of his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration. A cat who’d gotten the cream – or was about to, at least. 

“There we go,” he murmured, softly, and the hand flexed a little tighter around Rhys’ throat. Rhys’ breath began hitching, lips purpling as he gasped for what little air he could get. “There’s a good little slut. Keep touching yourself, just like that, there’s a good boy.”

When Rhys whined, there was no air to it, no sound. Just vibration, thin enough even the sensitive palm of his mechanical hand could hardly pick it up. 

The way his hips hitched up into his hand was harder to miss, though, an involuntary movement he couldn’t deny. The wet patch on the front of his pants was growing, his cock dripping with every movement of his hand, with every flex of Jack’s fingers. He gripped a little tighter, rubbed himself a little more firmly through the fabric, dragging his precome-soaked boxers against the head of cock. His balls were aching, cock throbbing in time to his heartbeat, in time to the oxygen-starved pulse in his head.

The friction, the breathlessness, the weight of _Handsome fucking Jack’s_ hungry gaze on him, was nearly enough to make him come there and then.

“Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” said Jack, and his voice was as close to awed as Rhys had ever heart it. “The fun I’d have had with you, when I still had a body. Holy shit. Look at you! A hand around your throat, and you’re about to cream your pants.” He flexed his fingers, almost absently, and the hand around Rhys’ throat responded in turn, tightening its grip. “You’re just– ah, haha, you’re just a dream for a guy like me, huh? Just a natural.”

Mouth open, tongue lolling, drool down his chin, Rhys was abruptly powerfully grateful for the hand around his throat. It was only the restricted airflow that kept his helpless moaning from waking the rest of the caravan.

“Come on kiddo,” said Jack, tightening his grip until black and red began to strobe in front of Rhys’ vision. “You can do it! I believe in you. Daddy’s getting bored now, though, so hurry up and ruin those shitty pants of yours, or I’m gonna start strangling you for real.”

Rhys had been half-tempted to stick a hand down his pants before, get some proper friction, but now Jack had said it… He wanted to come like this, just like this, rubbing himself through the fabric until he came in his pants with Handsome Jack, _the_ Handsome Jack, choking him. His fingers tightened around his cock, palm pressing down harder as his hips rocked up faster, faster, until he’d have been whining with it if he hadn’t been most of the way to passing out from lack of air. He was so close, _so close_ –

His vision greying, Rhys came so hard he blacked out.

He came to with the faint sound of laughter ringing in his ears, his own spend warm and sticky in his boxers… and Fiona wide awake, watching him from the driver’s seat with something between curiosity and suspicion.

“You alright…?” she asked, slowly. “You were making weird noises in your sleep. Like a weirdo. Which– I already _know_ you’re a weirdo, but it’s kind of creepy when I’m sleeping in the same space as you, so? If you could not? That’d be great.”

Rhys tried not to wince, and barely managed it. “I, uh–” he started, and was nearly shocked to silence – and another erection, though his dick’s valiant efforts in that department mercifully failed – by the choked rasp of his own voice. He shifted where he sat, and his cock slipped through a smear of his own come, slick and over-sensitive. “Nngh, just! Just, uh, uh, just a nightmare, that’s all. Just a bad– bad dream. You know how it is! S-sometimes you just, haha, uh, have a nightmare–”

He hoped, _prayed_ , to a god he was sure wasn’t listening, that she didn’t comment on his flushed cheeks. On his crumpled shirt collar. On the wet spot that felt like it now covered the _entirety_ of his crotch. 

The eyebrow lowered, slowly. “That’s… understandable, I guess. Given the week you’ve had. …And the fact you’re a useless Hyperion stooge, unused to actually having to fend for yourself.” Something like sympathy flashed across her face, just for a second – though the suspicion remained, lurking behind her eyes. “…Take care of yourself, okay, though?” she added. “We’re gonna need you to get into that Vault. You’re no use to me dead.”

“Y-yeah,” managed Rhys, thoughts still mostly occupied by the slick, cooling mess in his pants, by the phantom feel of his own hand– of _Jack’s_ hand round his throat. By the thought of the bruises that were going to darken like a collar there later. By the best fucking orgasm he’d ever had, and how he couldn’t _wait_ to have one like it again, crowded caravan be damned. “Yeah, I’ll, uh. Take care of myself. Don’t– Don’t you worry about that…”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, come find me @sparxwrites on tumblr and @sparxwriting on twitter for more content!


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